


Partly What We Make It

by last_illusions (injured_eternity)



Category: Criminal Minds, NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, CM Family Verse, Crossover, Families of Choice, Gen, LGBT families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-04
Updated: 2010-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:43:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/injured_eternity/pseuds/last_illusions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I see you got married again.” Following a meeting at the Hoover building, Gibbs runs into an old friend from the Corps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Partly What We Make It

_Life is partly what we make it, and partly what it is made by the friends we choose_.  
\--Tenessee Williams

Leroy Jethro Gibbs usually avoided the Hoover building like the plague. It wasn’t that he really had a huge contention with the Bureau, but inter-agency cooperation was something they needed to be able to highlight, and events tended to stop being notable after they’d happened a number of times without fuss. Today, however, he’d been bound by protocol, courtesy of that very cooperation they tried to foster—and would be for at least another five minutes, which was about how long it would take him to get out the front doors.

He and NCIS Director Leon Vance had spent the morning in conference with the Bureau director and the FBI lead agent in charge of the joint operation they’d just been assigned—it had been that, or the FBI stepping on NCIS’ political toes, and they’d opted not to go that route. This time. Vance had some bureaucratic knots left to untangle, but Gibbs at least was free to go.

As the elevator doors slid open, Gibbs moved to step on—or would have, if its sole occupant hadn’t nearly run him over. He drew himself up short to avoid hitting the shorter man, a sharp remonstrance on the tip of his tongue despite the muttered, “Excuse me”, when he froze in disbelief.

“ _Rossi_?” he asked incredulously, not bothering to hide his shock, and the other man did a rapid double take before breaking into a broad grin.

“Gunny! What the hell have you been up to??” he exclaimed as they clapped each other on the back.

“Getting older,” Gibbs quipped with a grin. “Don’t tell me the Bureau got its hooks back into you.”

Laughing, Rossi shook his head and gestured over to the break room. “Went back to the BAU a couple of years ago,” he admitted as he poured himself a cup of coffee and handed another to Gibbs. “They didn’t get you, too, did they? We’d have seen each other before now.”

“Nope.” He took the proffered cup with a nod of thanks (it was only marginally better than stereotypical cop-shop coffee, but he appreciated the gesture). “Answer to NCIS now.”

“In a suit, no less,” Rossi said with a teasing grin. “They’ve ruined you, Jethro!”

Glaring, Gibbs just leaned back against the counter and changed the subject, nodding at the other man’s left hand. “I see you got married again.”

“I see you didn’t,” came the dry retort.

“Another one have her way with you?”

At that, Rossi paused, running a hand through his dark hair. It was a mostly subconscious gesture that appeared when he was cornered or uncertain, which Gibbs found a rather odd response to the question. He didn’t, however, have to wonder very long. “Yes, as a matter of fact he did.”

Gibbs nearly choked on his coffee, but then he grinned, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good for you. Maybe this one will stick.”

“Oh, he will.”

The conviction in that response got his attention; Rossi was a determined man—had been since they’d known each other in the Corps—but a practical one, and after three failed marriages, conviction was hard won. They may have been out of touch for several years, but they’d known one another well in the time since their discharge, and nothing had ever managed to change Rossi’s sometimes bullheaded tendencies.

“What'd he _give_ you?” he said aloud, veiling surprise with snark.

“Kids. Five of them.”

It was hard to say what surprised Gibbs more: the candour in the answer or the paternal expression on Rossi’s face. The man had all but stated he’d never have kids back when they’d been enlisted, and none of his three wives had been successful in changing that.

“Congratulations,” he said finally. It was sincere, but a little thrown, and Rossi chuckled.

“You look like you could use a drink,” he observed, dark eyes amused.

Gibbs at least had the grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry,” he said, and the other man feigned shock.

“Suits _and_ apologies, Jethro? What _have_ they done to you?!”

Before Gibbs could respond, Rossi glanced at the clock. “Damn,” he said, “I’m due in to see the Deputy Director. We should grab a drink or something after work.” Then he raised an eyebrow, shooting an arch look at the taller man. “Unless you don't drink anymore, either.”

“In your dreams, Dave,” Gibbs shot back. “I can still drink your ass under the table.”

For a moment, Rossi just paused, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Then he let the grin spread and shot an irreverent mock salute at Gibbs. “I’m counting on it.” A beat; then, “Because you’ll have to explain to the husband why I’m coming home drunk with some strange man.”

Not even Gibbs could recover quickly enough to formulate a response, since Rossi was out the door in the blink of an eye—and that wasn’t really the sort of comeback one yelled down the hallway of a federal building at the Deputy Director’s office, anyway. Left standing in the break room with a cup of bad coffee, he just shook his head wryly, then started to laugh.

 _Finis._

 _Feedback is always appreciated._


End file.
